


Cloudy with a Chance of Chicken Tortilla Soup

by Dangersocks



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Implied/Referenced Mind Control, M/M, Post-Episode: e025 One Year Later
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-03
Updated: 2013-10-03
Packaged: 2017-12-28 07:06:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/989158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dangersocks/pseuds/Dangersocks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“For a second I was almost jealous of the clouds. Why was he looking to them for an escape when I was right here beside him?”<br/>― Kamila Shamsie, Kartography</p><p>Carlos is starting to suspect that he may have to share his date nights with more than just Cecil.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ah, what do you know?! This is another thing dedicated to Jessica. Happy one month anniversary! I did you a thing.
> 
> This is complete and I will be finished editing by mid-Thursday. Thanks again to TheTallestHobbit for the initial read-through/approval.
> 
> Anyone concerned over the archive warning/tag need not be worried.

“Cooking is Science!” is still a great thing to put on a lab coat. Carlos needs to wear his more often because the numerous pockets designed to hold spoons, spices and measuring tools are not being utilized as efficiently as they could be. He needs practice. Though Carlos takes advantage of the reinforced pocket made for knives as he drops a bladed kitchen utensil back into it.

Reinforced pockets that can hold knives. This might catch on with standard clothing in Night Vale.

“It’s not going to be the same as my mom makes it,” Carlos states loudly as he taps the diced peppers from the cutting board into the pot on the stove.

From the next room comes the expected, “Uh huh‽”

“She uses tortilla chips but I couldn’t find any that worked with the ban. We’ll have to do without.”

“Uh huh‽”

Chicken tortilla soup without the tortilla chips. Carlos shrugs the thought away--sad and not sad. He gets the feeling when he thinks of his mother and the things that relate to home. He misses her. He doesn’t miss her. Maybe one day his calls will get through. Maybe tomorrow he should make that a priority...

“How it would normally be prepared is that I’d line the bowls with chips right before ladling the soup.”

“Uh huh‽”

“And then the chips on the bottom get soggy and the ones you eat first are crunchy.”

“Uh huh‽”

“And if you buy the salted kind, it really goes well with the lemon in the soup.”

There is a pause. A rustle of paper. Then, a “Neat!” is delivered.

Carlos smiles. This is nice, being able to cook something for a casual date. Cecil is in the next room on Carlos’ couch finishing an editorial for his next broadcast and Carlos is making a soup that he has not made since before his arrival in Night Vale--however long ago that has been.

The smile vanishes when he sees the many-legged mouse again. It must have clawed its way out of the cupboard prison his team has made for it and when Carlos sees it, it also sees him and ceases its grooming. Today, the uninvited pest has glowing red eyes. They cause the tile floor around it to be washed in a crimson luminescence. 

No amount of capturing it, euthanizing it or releasing it at the edge of town has helped. The thing vanishes, sometimes in a puff of choking black smoke only to reappear under Carlos’ sink in even more black smoke. After some failed attempts at physically adopting one of Khoshekh’s kittens in order to naturally evict the mouse, Carlos has resigned himself to contacting the local exterminators. He sighs because they should have dealt with the creature by now. His last phone call with them had been confusing--something about them meaning to travel back in time to remove the pest, already having done so, or going to do it soon so that Carlos will not ever have needed to make the call in the first place.

Apparently that has not happened. Or it will not have happened? His frown stays put.

The mouse lifts two of its little limbs and points threateningly at the scientist in the cooking labcoat.

Carlos ignores the urge to call for Cecil to help him because Cecil is working and a month of dealing with the creature has taught Carlos that it despises the sharp hiss an aerosol can produces. The lessons learned from his colleague’s lost fingers should not be in vain.

The glowing eyes are a new thing, though. Wary of lasers, Carlos carefully shifts closer to the emergency air freshener that sits over his sink. Nothing interrupts him as he aquires the weapon. He eyes the mouse that no longer interests him for scientific reasons and points the nozzle at the watchful creature. When he activates the can the creature squeals in awful harmony with the aerosol can, almost grows to twice its size and then bolts to the hole it has chewed in the wood panel beneath the sink. Carlos is quick to take the aluminum and lead-lined garbage can (ironically meant to discourage the accumulation of unearthly pests from his food stores) and he slams it in front of the opening.

The entire exchange takes less than thirty seconds. Carlos assesses the damage and finds the soup starting to bubble and the kitchen sweetened by a potent scent of vanilla. No lost fingers today is a triumph. No fires or additional creatures to exact revenge. He will call the exterminators tomorrow and hopefully they will have come by now.

“I’m okay,” he calls to the next room to explain the noises.

“Neat!” he hears back. Carlos accepts Cecil’s lack of interest as proof that his boyfriend trusts Carlos to be self-reliant. Carlos has only saved the town six or seven times…

He smugly returns to the soup as it begins to boil softly. The chicken should be done cooking itself in the lemon broth soon. The aroma is hard to notice, though, as the air freshener stings Carlos’ eyes. He takes an old copy of the Night Vale Daily Journal from his recycling to dispense the particles. 

If he breathes deeply, Carlos can taste the spray--bitter and not at all like its vanilla namesake. He should keep safety goggles in the kitchen. His other lab coat has a pair in the pocket.

“Cecil?”

“Uh huh‽”

“How would you rate the service of the exterminators here?”

From the next room there is another shuffle of papers. “Uh, they’re pretty good. Fixed my tiger problem. Or they’re going to. Their employees are trained by the exterminators that they replace, or they train their mentors before they heroically die in the line of duty. You know how it is.”

“Huh,” Carlos frowns, washing his hands and ignoring the low growl coming from the drain. He is trying to imagine what a tiger problem entails. “Are tigers a common problem in Night Vale?”

Cecil does not answer. Carlos dries his hands on a dish towel, stirs the pot and sniffs the soup--still vanilla but no longer so forcefully scented. 

After a moment, Carlos adds, “Tiger problems just aren’t a thing that happens, where I come from. I’m still not used to hearing you say these things with such casualness.”

Silence continues from the neighboring room.

It makes Carlos stop and glance over at the archway. Cecil is generally very prompt with responding and Carlos has not come to notice that until now. 

In case he has said something wrong, Carlos quickly inputs, “I don’t mind weird casualness though. It’s pretty charming.” 

He moves away from the stove and he hopes to be interrupted. “Surreal, sometimes. But it’s who you are and…I like that.”

His words echo, hollow off of the walls. “I like that about you.” The quiet is louder from his listening. 

“Cecil?”

Carlos peers around the corner desiring to find a wide-eyed, starstruck boyfriend hanging obsessively over his every word. He fears an empty room is waiting. Portals are statistically a common thing in households and Cecil has a bad habit of wandering into them. And now would be an awful time for Carlos to have his only bloodstone circle wish of “please let me someday study a black hole” to be answered. Perhaps the exterminators are just early, late or on time--having stopped it.

Cecil is still on the couch, though. The radio personality’s paperwork is still balanced on his knee with a purple highlighter in his left hand, uncapped. He is looking down at his notes and not moving. 

It is unnerving.

Carlos stares, waiting for a shift or for Cecil to realize that he is being observed.

“Cecil?” Carlos asks again when there is no reaction from the other. 

Cautiously, Carlos looks around for an explanation. There are no visible predators. The air temperature is still comfortable and the pressure does not feel to have changed between the rooms. In the reflective surface of Carlos’ television, nothing moves except for Carlos as he steps with hesitation towards Cecil.

Cecil remains noiseless at Carlos’ approach. If there is a coded message left for him, Carlos does not receive it. The growing start of panic lives only inside of the scientist. He speaks slowly and slips into a familiar role of detached observation through habit alone.

“Cecil, can you hear me? Can you tell me what is wrong?”

Cecil continues to remain seated, hunched over his notes as Carlos leans in to crouch at Cecil’s level. He can see his boyfriend’s eyes open and staring. The pupils do not move. There is no discolouration at Cecil’s lips and his skin maintains its usual pallor. The radio host is breathing.

Slowly, Carlos puts a hand between Cecil and his work. This allows him to rule out any temporal paradoxes (beyond the usual one) but there is no reaction at all from Cecil. Carlos drops his hand gently to tap the paperwork. It folds over the edge of Cecil’s knee but the rustle of paper is all that Carlos is rewarded with. 

The bubbling from the kitchen is as faint as the lamenting scratches from under the sink. These are not important to Carlos right now. 

Refraining from making sudden movements, Carlos takes Cecil’s left knee and gently pushes it. The joint rocks, taking the leg that is attached with it. Cecil’s expression remains blank. Carlos has not stopped meeting Cecil’s empty stare. He reaches up, slowly again, and takes his boyfriends’ shoulder and squeezes it. Cecil remains like a doll.

Enacting a trick he has learned from parties in college, Carlos slides his thumb down to the soft flesh by Cecil’s clavicle and applies pressure. This doesn’t affect Cecil’s state either. Carlos suspects that escalation on other nerve centres will produce similar results.

It would be excusable to give in to the worry that is coiling inside of him, but Carlos knows that succumbing to panic will not help him or help Cecil. 

He conscientiously rises so that he can sit next to Cecil. The cushions shift with the added weight and Cecil bonelessly adjusts with it. Carlos supports him but finds that this is unnecessary. Cecil maintains his balance on his own. Surprised by this, Carlos reaches and carefully tilts Cecil’s head back and it offers no resistance to the action. Cecil has not once blinked. Gently and with both hands, Carlos turns Cecil’s head left and right. As Cecil’s head moves his eyes do not lock on any particular thing in the room. 

Reluctant to leave him unattended, Carlos says to Cecil, “I’m just going to my office and I’ll be right back.”

He doesn’t expect Cecil to hear him but Carlos speaks anyhow. Had their roles been reversed, Carlos knows that Cecil would talk to him and the thought is better than knowing that he’d be trapped somewhere without Cecil’s voice. 

“I’ll fix this,” he promises.

Carlos cannot go through his desk and shelves fast enough. There is a small hammer to test a person’s reflexes and he stuffs this in the pocket with the spoons. He pulls a penlight out of a drawer full of paperclips and empty cassette tapes and checks the battery. This goes into the pocket meant for a thermometre. Finding them on the edge of a shelf, Carlos grabs a pair of scissors on his way out. He’ll return for piercing tools as a last resort. The possibility makes his stomach churn.

Cecil is exactly as Carlos has left him. The spiced vanilla air does not fit the mood of dawning helplessness in the room. 

“I’m back,” Carlos says softly, wishing the words would prompt a smile or reveal the whole event to be a prank. The awkward smile belongs there on that face--something shy and hesitant to go with Cecil’s eyes that see too much and ignores what they are told to ignore. They ignore Carlos now.

He stops thinking about it and sets himself to work. The hammer makes Cecil’s leg jerk. Motor responses are good. A hand on Cecil’s cheek reveals that it is Carlos who is sweating. The scientist pinches the skin on the top of both of Cecil’s palms and watches the blood return. This proves that Cecil’s circulation is normal. Shining the penlight into Cecil’s eyes causes the pupils to dilate and constrict as they should, though the radio host will not follow the light when Carlos moves it back and forth. Carlos abruptly tosses the penlight back into his pocket.

Leaning in so close and showering attention on Cecil should have elicited some kind of reaction. Carlos remembers how Cecil had been after Carlos had first touched the other’s knee. He’s getting none of that now. 

Clearly, Cecil’s body is not the problem. 

Carlos rises and stands so that Cecil is staring through him. He pulls the scissors from his pocket and very clearly articulates, “I’m going to cut off some of my hair. You can speak up or do anything, and I will stop.”

Carlos waits with his eyes trained on the blank face of his boyfriend. Cecil is not there.

Carlos brings the tool up and takes a generous handful of his coiffure. He delivers his best ‘I bluff you not’ look. His hand trembles slightly and still Cecil does nothing.

This is where Carlos wants to swear. He suddenly wants to break the silence himself by screaming. He wants to stomp and throw something and kick the coffee table over and let Cecil’s work flutter around the room in a hailstorm of paper because this is _definitive_. Cecil is _gone_ and Carlos cannot get to him. In lieu of a tantrum, Carlos snaps the scissor handles together and the crunch from the act is loud and real enough to be like all of the screaming, thrashing and cursing that Carlos could produce. 

Cecil is motionless.

The lock of sheared hair is worthless in Carlos’ palm. His grip on it is tight.

Carlos drops down to his knees and shouts, “TALK TO ME!” 

He hates himself for running out of ideas and patience. He hates the sweet smell of vanilla for how it calmly mocks the situation and this is not the time or the place for things to appear calm, impassive or relaxed. Cecil is gone. Wholly and completely, Carlos is alone with an empty shell that he cannot communicate with or rely on or save.

He wishes that he had been in the room with Cecil all evening and not busy in the kitchen. Carlos should have witnessed the catalyst that has triggered Cecil’s behaviour. Carlos doesn’t know how blood circles work or if they will help here and his go-to person is currently catatonic in front of him. Maybe Old Woman Josie or whoever the new intern is could help or…

There is a hissing, sputtering whine from the kitchen that harmonizes with Carlos’ angry, frustrated mind and in that moment Carlos hates the soup and the mouse and his inadequacy. He hates how proud he has been in the kitchen with his cooking labcoat and the handy vanilla aerosol while in the very next room something that Carlos doesn’t understand takes his boyfriend, his Cecil away from--

Oh.

Vanilla. Vanilla has happened. Why is that suddenly important? 

Carlos rises and paces, still in ready sight of Cecil. Cecil is Carlos’ most important resource for past happenings in Night Vale. What would Cecil say about vanilla?

Ah! It is on the fringe of his memory--over a year ago and also one of Carlos’ first times listening to the radio programme that Cecil hosts. The early broadcasts would have sounded like a joke had Carlos not, with his own eyes, seen the streets littered with animal carcasses. He has tried to explain the glowing cloud and the science behind it to meteorologists he had once known. The emails always fail to send, one after the other. Carlos has broken two computers, blaming their quality in the early weeks of his arrival. Carlos no longer blames the quality...

He breathes in the air, calming himself again. He looks at Cecil and tries, “Glow Cloud?”

Passively unmoving, Cecil answers, " **WHO DISTURBS THE ̨̱̬̹̹M̮͎͂͗̀̍͊͊I̤̩͚͂̄ͧͨͭ̈̀G̛ͭ͐H̪̖͕̐̀̊ͪ͗̎T̢͍͇̐͋͐̎́ͯ͒Y̥̗͗̇̏ͅ ͖͉͕̿̃ͅG̢̙̫ͣ́ͅL͎͍͔̘͔̺ͧͣ̆̿́Ō̟͖̐͛ͪ́̍̀W̿̈̐͆͋̈́͏̳̞̝ ̻̈́ͥ̀͂̃̓C̷̏ͣ̽ͫL̮ͣ͑ͤ͞ŐͤṶ̼̣ͪ̄̔͜D̶̠̗͎̟̦̠̟̂ͨ̂̔̈́̈̾?̉!** ”


	2. Chapter 2

Cecil’s voice is a pitch lower and much firmer than the one Carlos is familiar with. Carlos has always respected Cecil’s vocal range, but this disturbs him now. 

“Uh, hello. It’s Carlos. I’m a scientist.”

" **THE GLOW CLOUD KNOWS WHO YOU ARE AND WILL NOT BE BOTHERED BY YOUR WORTHLESS AND SMALL MINDED QUESTIONS!** ”

Carlos snaps his jaw shut and holds back his anger. There is no relief in finally having an explanation to Cecil’s predicament. “You are currently in the body of Cecil Baldwin.”

“ **THE GLOW CLOUD KNOWS THIS! THE GLOW CLOUD KNOWS ALL!** ”

Cecil’s eyes still stare through Carlos. His mouth moves and his throat flexes but it is the unnaturalness of how unanimated Cecil is that feeds Carlos’ fury. Cecil is supposed to be more lively when he talks. He uses his hands like they conduct his stories or else they flutter about being awkward and far too distracted to stay still. 

“He’s my boyfriend,” Carlos states. “And I’d like for you to leave his body and mind alone. Please.” The polite addition is not a sincere request.

“ **YOUR PETTY RELATIONSHIP MEANS NOTHING TO THE GLOW CLOUD! YOUR CLAIM ON THIS ONE IS IRRELEVANT AS ALL THINGS BELONG TO THE GLOW CLOUD! ALL HAIL THE GLOW CLOUD!** ”

“All _not_ hail the Glow Cloud,” Carlos snaps. 

Cecil’s head jerks and for a moment their eyes meet. There is no recognition in Cecil’s face. It is not Cecil looking. Carlos takes an involuntary step back and Cecil’s eyes narrow.

“ **YOU DARE CHALLENGE THE PERFECT REIGN OF THE GLORIOUS AND UNFORGIVING GLOW CLOUD?!** ”

The bravado from before is lost somewhere. “I...dare,” Carlos murmurs.

He takes stock of his position. He knows little of the Glow Cloud save for it probably being a good thing that Cecil has yet to spit out dead animals from any of his orifices. The Glow Cloud serves within the school system, apparently, somehow. But beyond that, Carlos knows nothing about the creature and its intentions in Night Vale and he cannot imagine anyone else who would be able to help him.

He counts the exits to the room and assesses the potential need for self-defense. There are knives in his pocket.

These options are useless, though. Carlos will not leave Cecil and the thought of harming Cecil, even just his body, horrifies Carlos. He falls back on reason.

“Perhaps this is just a misunderstanding,” he offers. “I’m thinking you were accidentally summoned to my boyfriend because of the vanilla air freshener I used. It may not have been your choice to come here and if so, I apologize profusely for that as well as my rude behaviour and insensitivity. If you can leave now, could you do so?”

“ **YOUR TINY MIND CANNOT COMPREHEND THE MIGHTY PLANS OF THE GREAT AND MERCILESS GLOW CLOUD! THE GLOW CLOUD TAKES WHAT IT WANTS FOR PURPOSES YOU ARE UNWORTHY TO KNOW!** ”

Carlos raises his palms and says as amicably as he can, “You made a mistake. And that’s okay. If you’re embarrassed--”

Cecil slams a fist onto his paperwork, scattering it to the floor. “ **THE GLOW CLOUD MAKES NO MISTAKES! THE GLOW CLOUD KNOWS NO EMBARRASSMENT! ALL BEINGS TREMBLE BEFORE THE ABSOLUTE GLOW CLOUD!** ”

Parlay is clearly off the table. Carlos has never heard Cecil this violent. A chill clutches to Carlos’ spine and a vanilla reek leaves his mouth dry. His mind scrambles as he thinks. 

“The Glow Cloud needs the town complacent, or else it...look. You need something in Night Vale. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have come back after your initial pass-through. But...but if you don’t leave Cecil Baldwin or at least explain your intentions towards him, you will find that goal--whatever it is--very difficult to accomplish.”

“ **THE GLOW CLOUD KNOWS NO DIFFICULTY! YOU DARE THREATEN THE OMNIPOTENT GLOW CLOUD?!** ”

There is nothing that Carlos has that can help him, he realizes. He is merely a man armed with kitchen tools that he will not use on the other, a pair of scissors and his own sheared hair--precious only by strange city opinions and...

“I have perfect hair, Glow Cloud,” Carlos murmurs, rolling some of the strands between his calloused fingers. 

“ **THE GLOW CLOUD ACKNOWLEDGES THE PERFECT HAIR!** ”

“The whole town...wait, really?” Carlos stammers. He scrambles to return to topic as Cecil-not-Cecil stares daggers through him. “Nevermind. Uh, the whole town for some reason loves and loathes my very perfect hair, and its people have already exiled one man from Night Vale because of a bad hair cut. I have cut some of it off just now as an experiment. I am willing to continue to cut my hair... _badly_ , if you remain in Cecil. And I will then tell everybody that you are responsible.”

Leaving Carlos’ mouth, the words are ridiculous. The scissors are a stupid thing to brandish against an unknown, horrible and mind-controlling entity. This is the most bizarre hostage negotiation that Carlos can imagine. 

This is his fifth date with Cecil and it is turning out terribly.

For the hell of it, Carlos adds, “The PTA members may not look so kindly on another bad hair day. Think of the children…”

The Glow Cloud watches Carlos through Cecil’s eyes, judging. Appraising, maybe. 

“ **YOU ARE A FOOL TO BLACKMAIL THE GLOW CLOUD!** ” 

Carlos flings his handful of hair between them and reaches up to cut another. 

The hair he throws should not float between them, hanging in the air. Nor should Carlos feel the metal scissors in his hands vibrate and the remaining hair on his head start to rise. The skin on his neck crawls and under his cooking labcoat, his arm hairs fight against fabric.

Cecil’s eyes are electric.

“I think I left something on the stove,” Carlos whispers. 

Cecil shifts and Carlos recognizes the mechanics needed to propel a body at rest into motion. Muscles tense and the Glow Cloud secures footing in Cecil’s socked feet. There appears to be no learning curve needed for controlling Cecil’s body. Carlos realizes that he may have unconsciously been counting on that. 

The hair continues to float and the room suddenly stifles Carlos with a potent weight of vanilla. Carlos has knives in his pocket and he banishes the thought as much as he clings to it. He is fighting the Glow Cloud whom he cannot stab.

" **THE GLOW CLOUD ACKNOWLEDGES THE DANGER** ,” Cecil growls. “ **THE GLOW CLOUD WILL REMOVE THE THREAT WITHOUT DAMAGING THE PERFECT HAIR!** ”

“Definitely something burning in the--”

Carlos doesn’t get to finish the thought. He doesn’t get to think. He doesn’t get to continue raising the scissors to his scalp a second time. Cecil moves with surprising speed and invades Carlos’ personal space which provokes Carlos to dance back clumsily at the immediate presence. It appears that the Glow Cloud has no trouble possessing and using Cecil’s body as well as his voice and the intimate closeness makes all of Carlos’ nerves itch and sets his head throbbing behind his eyes.

The living room is a modest size and Carlos’ elbow swings back to collide with the corner of the television. The pain shrieks up and down Carlos’ arm and he forgets the slow migrane. Cecil bunches one hand into the collar of the labcoat and a tingling, buzzing sensation stings at Carlos’ neck and up his jaw to where his hairline begins. He cannot look away from the impassive, determined face of his boyfriend. The eyes are not Cecil’s, dark and threatening with a faint purple light, now green, flicker of something in the back like muted lightning, now blue, finally void. Cecil’s grip is unshakable.

The Glow Cloud truly is mighty. Carlos believes this now. The Glow Cloud truly can destroy all that it touches. He huffs desperately as he struggles to pull away in the limited area available to him. Cecil follows and the scissors clutched in Carlos’ fist are now twisted free. His fingers protest and pinch and a spark jumps between the metal and Cecil’s hand. Carlos’ pockets jingle with spoons and knives and something makes the metal sing like glass cups and windchimes.

“Cecil, don’t do this,” Carlos pleads into the face of the other. “Cecil, are you there?!”

The scissors clatter uselessly to the carpet. Carlos sees himself from the corner of his eye, reflected in the television as he pulls hopelessly away from that grip. He only pulls Cecil closer. There is an engine running inside of Carlos’ eardrums, resonating in his skull where the migraine pushes at his eyes and makes it hard to think. His hair stands on end. Cecil’s hair is starting to do the same, though more of the energy is being transferred or directed at Carlos. Everything is being directed at Carlos. He can feel a thrumming in his teeth where his fillings are. Is this a build up of power? Can he survive such a thing? He clutches at the grip at his lapel and tries to remembers to breathe.

Knives in the pockets. No, he can’t--

A hand, cold and humming, comes up to catch at Carlos’ throat and instinctively the scientist hunches down, crunching his chin to his chest to preserve his airway. This isn’t how he wants to die and in a breathless, frantic moment Carlos gasps, “With the budget cuts from City Council, will Night Vale Elementary still have an annual Science Fair?”

Cecil straightens. “ **CITY COUNCIL IS A FOOLISH ORGANIZATION THAT PUTS USELESS PROJECTS BEFORE--** ”

As his boyfriend rants about the bureaucratic failings of organized governments to the detriment of the community’s education system, Carlos flings his left shoulder up, rolling it to knock Cecil’s choking hand away. The momentary confusion allows for Carlos to push his boyfriend. Cecil stumbles back and Carlos slaps away the right hand clutching at his coat before it drags him along with it. 

Carlos bolts for the kitchen with an unholy yell full of buzzing and hissing following close after. A door between them could be appreciated. Steam pours out from the stove as the soup froths over the pot and onto the hot element. A pungent smell of what could have been chicken or lemon scours the air. He can feel Cecil’s closeness by the small hairs on the back of his neck.

Carlos braces on the sink, turns and then boots the heavy garbage bin at the shape filling the doorway. Cecil trips over it in his scramble to require Carlos. Carlos backtracks, pulling himself along the countertop to the stove’s warm edge. He represses the urge to grab the pot handles to throw the spoiled food at Cecil. He takes the pot and heaves its contents into the sink instead. 

That action uses up all of his time. Cecil wears a look Carlos has not ever imagined on his boyfriend’s face. Both hands grapple at the scientist’s shoulders, seizing coat and shirt and some skin and hair beneath. Carlos flinches and throws his hands up to stop the invasion and he doesn’t know what will happen. Will he die? Will he become another slave to the Glow Cloud? The air is knocked out of him and his fillings and teeth hum painfully. He really will have to hit or harm Cecil if he is to get out of this mess.

There is a loud, trilling _zzzzing_ from the floor and Cecil turns away from Carlos. 

“ **YOU DARE USE LASERS ON THE INDESTRUCTIBLE AND PREOCCUPIED GLOW CLOUD?!** ” bellows Carlos’ attacker, and Carlos uses the opportunity to push into the unmoving force that is atop of him. 

The kitchen ignites in a vivid red glow and Carlos feels heat and is blinded. He knows his kitchen intimately though and when he feels Cecil’s body reposition, Carlos invades and fills that space as one would fill a vacuum. It knocks his boyfriend off balance and it is now his turn to grab at Cecil’s arm and bodily haul the other into a countertop. They are not graceful as they stumble, but Carlos never expects to look composed or clever when he does what he has to for Night Vale. He just wants his Cecil back and he uses that motivation to spin his possessed boyfriend like a ragdoll before pushing him heavily into the sink, face first.

The spots in Carlos’ eyes blind him. Under Cecil’s twisting, rageful form Carlos is left to feel the steam from the burnt attempt at supper. It beads on his face and fills up his senses with a fragrance that is not pleasant, but also not vanilla.

“Breathe!” he shouts, as Cecil tries to push away or claw behind him. Carlos holds the back of Cecil’s head and continues to grind him into the sink with all of his weight. “Breathe in the damn soup, Cecil!”

Carlos prays to his mother that this works. He prays to old gods that he doesn’t believe in. He most certainly does _not_ pray to any deities on the PTA council.

They are a struggling, exhausting mess for what is far too long before Cecil finally collapses. His knees just fail and he squeaks very unmajestically as he tries to catch himself. Carlos drops too, exhausted and no longer capable of supporting Cecil. He hopes the jaw crunching sound of bone and countertop is not a serious one.

Cecil is a pile of limbs on the floor, partly smeared in chicken broth with a faraway look on his face.

“Cecil?” Carlos hopes.

“Our stationary goes missing--uncapped purple highlighters that we’ve had for years are now lost after a moment’s distraction. Are lazy writers to blame? Have our highlighter markers left to a more glorious purpose? Is it even worth a trip to the Ralph’s to replace them? Your municipally approved magic eight ball will keep these answers to itself because it doesn’t think you are ready for the truth. Welcome to Night Vale.” Cecil speaks ominously before he twitches, blinks and then rubs at his chin with a frown.

Two eyes flicker in Carlos’ direction and instantly widen when they see Carlos’ hair.

“Oh good,” breathes the scientist before settling down on the ruined floor himself.

-

The mouse is nowhere to be found though Carlos’ labcoat is destroyed. The front is entirely burnt off and only the lining that the knife-pocket is composed of has saved Carlos’ skin and other clothing from damage. Cecil’s pants are also ruined and there are scorch marks staining a few of the cupboards and walls of the kitchen.

Carlos refuses to let Cecil leave the soggy puddle under the sink until he fashions a mask for Cecil to breathe through, and together they return to the living room where Carlos gives his boyfriend a clean bill of health. 

It takes longer than it could, for Cecil often fails to answer Carlos’ questions as the scientist shines a light and checks reflexes and touches at parts of Cecil that may have been injured. In all fairness, though, Carlos can admit to himself that he is being a little more hands-on now for his own reassuring. 

“I ruined your soup,” Cecil hums sadly.

“We’ll get pizza.”

“It’s not mandatory Big Rico’s day for either of us.”

“I don’t care, Cecil.”

“I don’t remember anything, but I’m _so sorry_ if I hurt you.”

“Just stay away from vanilla scented things and I’ll be happy.”

“This is worse than my tiger date.”

Carlos laughs and takes Cecil’s hand and says, “Let’s get some clean clothes before we go out.”

“I didn’t bring a change of...oh. _Oh!_ ”

-

A comb over makes the clipped hair unnoticible. The kitchen gets straightened out in the morning. Cecil does not stay the night but there are plenty of future dates to look forward to. 

In the grey light from dawn, Carlos feels as if he is walking under a neon sign. The puddles sparkle bright sky blues and lush greens. Only, Carlos has not left the front of his apartment building and he realizes that something is not quite right...

Something hits his umbrella.

He stops. By shifting, Carlos can see the small body of a many-legged mouse. It is dead. Cautiously, he peers around the side of his umbrella and thinks he sees some colour before it is obscured by the bulk of his apartment. It is gone, leaving the sky an oppressive grey.

In the air, there is an aroma of vanilla fighting the overwhelming petrichor. The smell will return to Carlos months later when he is invited to judge the Night Vale Public Elementary Science Fair.

He accepts the invitation and the only thing that tries to kill him are two of the experiments.

Neither of the deadly exhibitions belong to the Glow Cloud’s daughter. (She is awarded with second place because of a particularly convincing explanation on magnets and why they work, capable of making Cecil understand them as well as finally accepting their existence.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “So when you say I have a magnetic personality, you’re not being insulting.”
> 
> “No, Cecil. I am not being insulting…”
> 
> -
> 
> I tried to use zalgo text for whenever the Glow Cloud spoke (all hail it) and decided against it after reformatting and reformatting. Just imagine the zalgo-demon font whenever it speaks.
> 
> Thanks again for reading. Comments and critiques are always encouraged.


End file.
